'my Unfillable Shoes'
I have one simple question for you.
If you could, would you walk in my shoes?
For one minute, hour, day, month, or year?
But you can’t I fear.
Even if you wanted to, or I made you.
I’m afraid that request will never come true.
All I can do is explain.
And hope you don’t think it’s a lie…or in vain.
But here, I’ll try to explain.
Every day I see mostly blur.
Walk around totally unsure.
Of where things are around me.
Yes I can see.
The flowers, the trees.
I am blessed, and grateful.
I remain faithful.
But the depth, the distance isn’t there.
No matter how much I squint or stare.
But I do what I can, and get by.
No matter what I always try.
But this is just a part.
A start.
Of what I go through.
All I can do is tell you.
I can’t show you.
Or cause you.
To go through it.
So you have to take my word for it.
Every day I wake up.
Most days I feel messed up.
I walk around in a haze.
As if I’m trying to get through a maze.
My head, my leg, is always in pain.
Most people would go insane.
But I deal with it.
I get through it.
The medicine only makes me sicker.
Instead of healing me quicker.
With epilepsy.
You see.
There is always a risk of dying.
But I push on, keep trying.
I keep a smile on my face.
But it gets erased.
When I am accused.
Of this being what I choose.
Or that it’s not real.
You will never know what I feel.
But I tell you now.
I would never wish this on you anyhow.
I would never want or ask of you.
To ever have to walk in my shoes.
Not for a minute, hour, day, or year.
I would rather save you from the tears.
From the pain.
That I go through again and again.
Every day.
All I ask, all I need, for you to say.
Is I believe you, take my hand, it’ll be okay.
Copyright ©
Victoria Thunberg
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